


Stained Glass, Stained Bodies

by Thealien



Series: Cam [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Devotion, Established Relationship, Foot Massage, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealien/pseuds/Thealien
Summary: Arcade's feet hurt and Cam loves to touch him, but Cam's scrambled brain can't really resist the temptation of his lover.Established relationship, PWP, post-canon.No content warnings apply.
Relationships: Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Series: Cam [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804753
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Stained Glass, Stained Bodies

It’s hard, sometimes, usually, well actually all the time, to stay focused. Time doesn’t seem to work the way it does for others, things just happen around Cam and he just tries to stay abreast of them. This rubble needs to be there, these people need food, and those raiders need fighting. One thread at a time until the community is all stitched together. Sunny taught him that, the twisting of little strings into big ones until there’s enough to sew up a whatever-you-need. Nothing’s really different, if you look.

He takes a shower, because it’s after dinner, and there’s a bathroom. The Atomic Wrangler, in his— _their_ —bedroom. A lot smaller than home, just one room and the bathroom. Like the one in Novac. But it’s a home too, and so is Novac, and the sometimes-room they pay to borrow at Westside, all just like their house in Goodsprings.

The Lucky 38 could be home too, someday. Sometimes he slips away, sneaks in to do some work. Arcade says it’s a mausoleum—a place for dead things and creepy and he doesn’t like it—but it doesn’t have to be. Arcade makes Cam want to stay, to curl up in their home forever, but his bones itch if he doesn’t move. So, he’ll just build homes wherever they go.

Arcade is home when he comes out of the bathroom. He must have taken a long time, since Arcade is stretched out in the bed, but in _his_ spot. Cam sleeps on the right, Arcade on the left, but now Arcade is on the right.

That happens sometimes, usually when Cam has to leave. He comes back and Arcade is in his spot, sometimes even in his shirt. They don’t talk about it. Cam just gives lots of cuddles and Arcade pushes back, extra.

But Cam didn’t go anywhere, they just didn’t work together today. Arcade had to be a doctor and he was needed on the Strip. He sits on the end of the bed, with Arcade’s feet. He’s still wet, which makes Arcade grumpy, but he doesn’t say anything this time. Probably because he’s reading, but he knows Cam is here, because his feet are in Cam’s lap. And he didn’t flinch, so Cam must’ve remembered to be loud this time and not scare Arcade again.

Just socks on, until Cam slides them off. His toes wiggle and Cam touches each one, like he’s counting them. Pale little wigglers, with a few stray blond hairs. There’s a little bit of fuzz stuck between, from the socks, and he loves them.

Arcade asked him once, teasing, if he had a foot fetish—did feet _excite_ him, a hand feeling him through his jeans—but Cam couldn’t explain it, couldn’t find the words to explain that it’s less about the foot-ness and more about the Arcade-ness. All of Arcade is beautiful, and lovely, and he _wants_. He thinks, briefly, of Benny, and his gun, and wonders if maybe he could make Arcade understand if the bullet hadn’t scrambled his brain.

But it’s not so bad. He has Arcade, and Arcade’s feet, and Arcade loves getting a massage after work. Thumbs press up along long arches and Arcade sighs, his foot flexing against Cam’s touch.

He thinks he would like to have four hands, so none of Arcade was neglected. But he doesn’t, so he makes do with two. It always niggles strange almost-memories at the back of Cam’s mind, like a breath on his neck, when he does this. Something about shaping earth. But he pushes it aside, because trying to chase the thought just gives him a headache and he has better things to think on.

Like the way Arcade’s skin feels, soft on top of the foot but a little firmer, more like fine leather on the bottom. There’s a bump on his big toe, and some roughness at the back of his heels, and Cam runs his fingers along them, reverent. He remembers the great big building—a cathedral, Arcade had called it—they’d found once. Arcade explained that it was a holy place, somewhere people came to worship. Like the gods—great Jove and angry Poseidon—from their stories, but different, but not really. One of the windows was intact still, shining colored-glass that left purples and greens glowing across Arcade.

He'd been teased, again, for needing Arcade right then, for tucking into his neck to taste the blue. A laughing reminder that it was just sunlight filtered through glass, there wasn’t anything really there, but there was. Cam knew what Arcade tasted like and it _was_ different that day, when Cam kissed more colors into his skin.

He’s almost lifted Arcade’s foot to his mouth when he remembers. Arcade doesn’t like that, thinks it’s gross, even if he admits that it’s more of a mental issue than anything else. But Cam twists to kiss his ankle instead, a mutually-acceptable alternative. The fine bones there press against skin which presses against Cam’s lips as he explores the spot where calf meets foot, that vital joint. The skin is so thin here, so delicate, but then the foot leaves his hands to return to his lap.

“I’m reading.” Arcade says.

Which means that he wants to stay reading, but Cam is just touching him. He doesn’t resist when Cam takes his other foot, to massage it until it’s lax and happy like its pair.

“I love you.”

He always means it, but he doesn’t always mean to say it. Sometimes he means to say “here’s your drink” or “what are you reading?” or “hello”, but it’s like breathing after a hard run, the relief too instinctive. Arcade just sighs, but it’s one of the happy ones. Cam knows he loves him too and it’s so hard to not climb over him now, to smother him in everything rolling in his soul.

Too much feeling for even a working tongue to say, so he just rubs sore feet and tries to stay in this moment.

It’s hard though, when his fingers flick up Arcade’s pants. This pair is a little too big for him, he’d rolled it up to the ankle, and Cam loves that ankle. His fingers circle the joint and he’s in the cathedral again, trying to find the line between worship and consumption.

One hand fits up Arcade’s pants, to feel his leg. Smooth and hard on the top, with the shin-bone, but firm flesh on the bottom. He pulls out to hold with both hands, to massage the muscle through clothes. Arcade turns a page and it echoes in Cam’s ears, something oddly physical about the noise. A reminder, that he’s reading, that he’s here, that _this_ is the time to be in.

A hand for either leg, to smooth down the rumpled pant legs. To settle himself with the familiar feeling of cloth under his hands. He tries to think of sewing, of the leatherworking he ought to be doing. Arcade wants to read, so he should either get up and fetch his supplies or go and cuddle. Just cuddle, maybe he could sneak some hair stroking. Arcade usually didn’t mind that.

But his hands don’t do either of these things. They map their way down Arcade’s leg, starting from his knee down to the ankle, until they have to turn around and go back up. Eyes touch his body and Cam looks to see Arcade giving him a smile, the one that says “you’re ridiculous” but more importantly “I love you”. 

His book is placed next to him and his arms open and it’s all Cam could do to not fling himself. His head rests on the soft paunch of Arcade’s belly, arms jammed under him to hold him close, and Arcade brushes his hair back.

But his hands are still restless, even though he specifically got them stuck, and Arcade must sense the want in him.

He always could, even from before, when he didn’t know that the want was also love and also _need_ , but that doesn’t matter now. He knows, and he loves Cam, and he’s stroking his hair. And then tugging him back _by_ his hair, gently, to reach down and unfasten his pants, to unzip the zipper. Cam watches, that tiny sliver of exposed skin the most tempting thing he’d seen possibly ever.

They’ve done this enough to not need to speak, for the message to be clear; Cam slides his pants off for him, carefully folding them before setting them aside. Then Arcade is back to reading, the small smile that Cam knows he has hidden behind the book, and Cam is free to touch. First to skim down the sides of his thighs, the get a sense, again, of the strength hidden within. Good thighs, strong ones, with a delightful jiggle to them. All of Arcade is soft and fair and blond and he wants to dip down, to taste the cream of his skin.

But he remembers before he does, that he’d only gotten to Arcade’s calf before the pants were in the way, and it’s important to go in order. Doc had taught him that, to find himself in an action, to ground him when his head starts going faster than the world.

All of Arcade is too much, but he can take it in turns, because he wants all of it regardless. He kneels between Arcade’s legs, before he finally selects the one on the right, to feel the swell of calf become knee, to tickle his fingers up the sensitive back-of-knee, to smile when Arcade twitches, reflexive. Arcade’s hair was fine, nearly invisible, a dusting of gold, and Cam brushes his cheek against it, feeling the soft almost-fur.

Now his lips were trailing up thigh, as hungry as his eyes, his hands. Arcade hasn’t showered yet—couldn’t, Cam had taken it and it wasn’t big enough for both of them—but Cam didn’t—couldn’t—mind the sweet-salted-sweat taste of having worked all day. Arcade’s book is down again but Cam just buries his face in the junction of thigh-meets-body, breathing in the heady smell of him. Musk and sweat and then a hand twining through his hair, not pulling, just present.

He doesn’t need to look to know Arcade’s getting hard, he can feel the almost-erection against his cheek. But the hand is his first clue, and the memories blossoming through his head, of the dozens of times he’s lost himself in this exact spot. It was red, in the cathedral, and he’s sucked until the color would stay, to keep some part of the day in Arcade.

Cam mouths his way over Arcade’s underwear, the nothing-taste of linen and the rasp of cloth against tongue, and then higher still. He looks up when the shirt is lifted, the barrier leaving, to see Arcade tugging it off. He doesn’t fold it neatly, just tosses it to the side of the bed before reclining back, to rest his hand in Cam’s hair once more. There’s that hint of flush to his cheeks that Cam loves, that say he _wants_ too, and he keeps trailing up.

He considers, for a moment, to skip the torso and head straight for the lips, but there’s so much here that he needs to touch first. His fingers flutter at Arcade’s side until he remembers that Arcade _hates_ being tickled, so he touches more firmly. He’s soft here, in the middle, and sometimes he’s embarrassed about it, but Cam loves to press against the yielding flesh, to mouth the safe, well-fed belly. The cathedral had been cool white stone too, almost the same shade as Arcade, when he’d pressed him down, just like this.

As he gets closer, Arcade’s hands touch him, too, to skim along his shoulders. Cam doesn’t like the closeness of shirts, the tight around his neck, so he had only put on his sleeping shorts. Arcade _likes_ him like this and Cam likes Arcade liking him.

Arcade’s nipples are pink, and so is the flush that steals its way down his chest, and Cam licks his way over both. He takes his time on Arcade’s nipples, thumbing one while he sucked on the other and then switching, ensuring both had equal love and attention, until Arcade’s pulling him up to his mouth.

But it’s not time for that yet, the trail demanded first a trip to his neck, to taste the hollow of his throat and skim over the bump—the Adam’s apple, Arcade had called it. It had been purple, that time, and Cam thinks he might like to make it purple again, but he’s diverted to a demanding red instead.

Arcade’s hand is on his neck, keeping him here, and the other is sliding down his back, and they’re kissing.

“Cam,” Arcade murmurs and he knows that means he should pull away, let him talk, but he doesn’t.

Arcade just sighs into his mouth, for a moment soft and tender, until he bites Cam’s lip, sending sharp-toothed pleasure.

Cam pulls away, sucking on the bitten lip, and Arcade cups his cheek. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore, unhiding his green eyes, and Cam loves him like this. Loves him with them on, too, of course, but Arcade-without-glasses meant that it was special times, cuddled close together, maybe kissing.

Arcade’s thumb swipes along Cam’s bottom lip, drawing his attention back, and he’s smiling that way that says he knows that Cam’s been drifting again and where he’d drifted to.

“Can you reach the drawer?”

He turns his head and then leans over Arcade, pulling the drawer out of the nightstand and offering it to him. Arcade huffs a laugh, giving him a look.

“I didn’t mean… well, it works.”

He’s muttering under his breath as he shuffles through the detritus. They’d been here for longer than normal, Cam’s restless bones soothed by the amount of work to be done after the fighting, and it shows in the full drawer. Medical supplies, a spare pair of glasses, one of Cam’s socks…

Arcade finds what he’s looking for—a small vial of oil—and then pushes the drawer back to Cam. It doesn’t want to go back into its nightstand though, just clanging against the wood and he can’t figure out the problem when Arcade’s fingers are stroking down his back so he just sets the thing on top of the nightstand to deal with later.

A hand on his chest pushes him backwards a bit, so Arcade could scoot down, and Cam nuzzles into him as soon as he can. Arcade likes to be on top and Cam loves him up there, but sometimes he wants to be under.

Arcade gathers Cam over him, hooks his legs around his waist too, and it’s not so much grounding as dizzying, then. Cam hadn’t noticed how much he was _wanting_ until Arcade was _giving_ , rocking them together, slow and sweet and not enough.

It’s hard to track how it happens, Cam just registers that they’re naked, Arcade nipping at his lips while they grind together. The vial is in _his_ hands, not Arcade’s, and the implication is obvious enough.

Normally it would be him on his back, or sometimes his front, with Arcade’s slick fingers, but sometimes Arcade asks for this, instead. Cam wants everything, always, but he’s not as good as Arcade at not spilling the oil everywhere.

Arcade starts to chuckle when the oil splashes his belly, dripping off Cam’s fingers, but then Cam takes them both in hand, so it comes out as a hiss. Cam likes the look of them together, likes the way that they’re the same, almost. Arcade’s cock is a bit longer, but Cam’s is thicker, and he rubs oil onto both of them, trying to watch Arcade but having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

One leg shifts, to expose Arcade a little more, and Cam remembers why he has the oil in the first place. He tries to be more careful this time, coating his hand instead of Arcade, and is slightly more successful. He wants to be like Arcade here, to be as gentle and patient and thorough. He circles around Arcade’s hole, trying to count in his head like that will help him hold on to time better. Pressing in was warm, hot, and tight, and he takes Arcade’s cock too, pulling two different noises out of him. A quiet gasp for every inch he presses into him and an almost-moan for the slow jerking, the nearly-a-massage.

“More.” Arcade breaths, pushing back, and Cam can’t look at him and his cock and the way he clenches down when Cam tries to pull out all at the same time, but he tries, oh he tries.

Arcade’s head falls back when it’s two fingers, mouth open, and Cam remembers that he ought to wiggle his fingers around, to find that little nub. He doesn’t remember the name Arcade had given it, but he remembers how it makes Arcade moan.

It hadn’t been safe in the cathedral to strip down like this, but he had remembered instructions from another time, of how to stimulate it from the outside, and Arcade had been so beautiful crying out, colors painted on his skin.

Arcade whines, quickly swallowed but audible, when he lets go of his cock to lean over him instead, to kiss the open mouth. He tastes different, when it’s Cam’s fingers inside him, he decides. It’s good, just wanting and getting and wanting even though he’s getting.

“I’m ready.” Arcade says, but it’s more like a complaint, an urging on even though this feels fast.

But maybe it isn’t fast, maybe Cam’s been drifting again; he’s got a good rhythm going on Arcade’s cock and three fingers in him and Arcade’s gone all lovely-pink.

“Cam, _now_.” Arcade groans and his cock pulses in Cam’s hand and he never was much good at saying no.

But Arcade clenches down on his fingers, even though this is what he wanted, and his eyes reopen to lock on Cam’s as he re-slicks his cock, making sure he’s coated. They pause for a moment, for Arcade to jam a few pillows under him, to ease some of the strain. Cam thought he was going to tell him to lay down, so he could take his usual place above him, but he doesn’t. Without being told anything else to do, Cam takes the moment to press a kiss onto a beautiful leg, to skim his hands down those long muscles again, while Arcade huffs something about distractions.

“I love you.” Cam says and then remembers what he’d meant to say. “Do you want-”

Arcade’s heels press into his back, forcing him forward.

“I _want_ you to fuck me now.”

He’s more eloquent with an erection than Cam is sitting at breakfast, but he loves Arcade for it. He presses in slow, even with Arcade spurring him on, and then blankets him with his body.

Arcade’s already tilting up for the kiss, his hands eager on Cam’s back. Wanting him to start, properly, but Cam needs the moment to see Arcade. To rest their foreheads together and look into his eyes.

Sap, Arcade calls him, but it doesn’t feel right until he sees the _want_ in Arcade, the exact mirror of his own. Which he knows, he pulls his eyes open to meet Cam’s, light and teasing but just as in love as Cam is with him. The worry in his chest eases at it and they share a quick kiss, before he straightens up a bit.

Now he can take Arcade’s waist in his hands, to squeeze the soft squish there, and start up a new rhythm. Slow at first, get Arcade used to this again, because it really wasn’t often that he was on top from the beginning.

In the cathedral, it had been Cam on his knees, looking up at Arcade, a supplicant seeking succor, the devout desperate for the divine. This time though, he’s all around Arcade; on him and in him and all of it on _his_ side of the bed.

This time maybe it’s not worship in a holy place, but them bringing that holiness here. Let him be the great building around the marble statue, let Arcade be the ecstasy of the heavens.

Arcade’s cock is leaking ambrosia and his mouth waters, but the nails digging into his back tell him that Arcade needs him to thrust harder, deeper. Cam leans into him and he groans, gloriously unmuffled, as he takes advantage of the strategic pillows, to press all the way in him and grind down, ensure he feels every stroke.

One hand leaves him so that Arcade can touch himself, to jerk himself off while Cam fucks him, and once again, Cam can’t look at everything at once. Rapture, on Arcade’s face, beautiful and heart-wrenching, but also the slick way his hand moved on his cock, and still more, the sight of Cam’s own cock pushing into Arcade, again and again.

“Cam,” Arcade pants and then he forces his eyes open and it’s like a jolt to Cam’s heart whenever he looks at him like that. “Yo-you close?”

Arcade so rarely stuttered, or even lost any of his words, and Cam relishes whenever he manages to get him to stumble. It’s almost enough to distract him from the question, but then it processes and he has to recognize the tightness in his belly and nod, chewing his lip.

He won’t, not until Arcade says he can, not until says he _where_ he can, but the knowledge that he wants to makes it burn worse now. The smile on Arcade’s face says this was intentional.

But he wants Arcade a little less clever, for a bit, so he hikes him up by the hips, bends him a little more. If he’s touching himself, then he must be getting close too, and Cam would see him there. He wants to take him apart entirely, to hold each piece of him and love them apart and together as one.

Cam frees a hand to cover Arcade’s, to squeeze him tighter, and he clenches down. They stroke his cock together, while Cam fucks him, and Arcade’s face twists as the competing pleasures overtake him.

Cam fucks him through it, slowing but not stopping, while come paints his chest and their joined hands. He doesn’t make a sound, just a sharp intake of breath and then a shuddering exhale, the aftershocks shaking the both of them. He pulls out slowly, letting Arcade catch his breath, and soothes the rushing of his heart by stroking everything he can.

When Arcade’s eyes open, they’re half-lidded, a smile turning the side of his mouth. His hands reach for Cam and he falls to them, to pepper Arcade’s face in kisses.

“You’re beautiful.”

Arcade hums, like he usually does when Cam says that, and then slithers a hand through the slick between them. He can’t get a grip like this, but he cups Cam’s cock, providing a little more friction for him to grind against.

“You want to come?”

He goes to tuck his face in Arcade’s neck, but a fist in his hair prevents it, makes him stay where he could be seen while clever fingers tease the head of his cock. He can’t nod either, not unless he wants to headbutt Arcade.

“Y-yeah.” He wets his lips and Arcade kisses him, light as a feather, and he won’t let him deepen it.

Cam remembers this too, the way Arcade was even more likely to tease after his own orgasm, and he can’t help the soft noise as he thrusts against the hand.

It turns out, he _can_ get a grip, actually, and the relief of a tight, slick place to fuck is instant. Arcade’s laughter tickles Cam’s face but he’s not stopping Cam, just watching him closely as he chases the high, wondering if Arcade will let him get there.

Surprisingly enough, his hand stays beautifully tight on Cam’s cock as the need forces his eyes closed and makes him bite his lip. But he can’t help the desperate whines that escape him, not anymore than he can help the need to breathe at all.

“Come for me.”

A soft order and he yields to it at once, spilling into Arcade’s hand and adding to the mess between them. Cam’s allowed to twitch against him, to bury his face into his sweet skin, to cry out a little, too.

Arcade makes him get off, after a few seconds, citing that he’d like to not be crushed, but he just wraps around him from the side, instead. And Arcade tucks in too, which makes the mess of their spend get everywhere, but they’re both too lax to care.

They both drift, in the after. Cam wonders what Arcade thinks about, in between remembering other times this had happened and nuzzling that blonde hair he loves so much. Eventually, this will have to stop, once Arcade remembers that he hates being messy, but for now Cam can look down at the smears across his tummy and chest, think about trailing his fingers through it. He knows it’s just the memory tricking his eyes, but he can see the reflected rainbow on Arcade again, with the streaks of _them_ painted on top.

“I love you.”

He means to say it, this time, and Arcade hums. Which is an answer on its own, Cam knows he has a hard time with the whole thing. He doesn’t expect a response more than that; Arcade only occasionally returned the statement, and maybe it’s the rarity that makes it hit him so strongly, like bullets to his chest, but blossoming sweet-good-pain instead of the normal death kind. He’s almost lost again, to the vague memory of the last time Arcade said it, grinning while Cam spun them, in the victory of the battle, when Arcade speaks again. 

“I love you too.”


End file.
